


Now Let Us Shift

by JulyStorms



Series: Before Colors Broke into Shades [11]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, F/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyStorms/pseuds/JulyStorms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "During current events, Hange is captured by the Central Military Police." [Abandoned]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now Let Us Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Edit July 2015: This story has been officially abandoned.
> 
> Prompt: "During current events, Hange is captured by the Central Military Police." Requested by Stardiouses on Tumblr.
> 
> Right now this is not canon divergent, but I'm sure Chapter 60 will make it so. This story takes place during current events of the manga, and will feature the currently-alive Survey Corps members with the major focus being on Hange and Levi. Feedback is appreciated as always. More characters and pairings will be added as they appear
> 
> Warning: please be aware that this story will contain torture, violence, blood, and PTSD.

Nothing was going right—nothing at  _all_. Flegel Reeves was starting to think… Well, he wasn't sure what to think, not anymore.

He knew the layout of the city well enough. Trost had been his home, more or less, for his entire life. But it was different, now, just like everything else. The narrow alleyways he'd played in as a boy (quite against his father's wishes,  _thank you very much_ ) were frightening somehow, in the way the brick buildings leaned just so, in the slim slit of sky above him.

His breath came in loud pants as he rounded one corner and slid into another alleyway. If he weren't such a coward—

Well, it was too late for that. Too late for a lot of things, actually.

Edward Reeves, know-it-all numbskull (and doting father) was dead. His body had been delivered to what remained of his family. Flegel had watched it all from one of the alleys, and he'd known, then, that he couldn't be seen, not even by his own mother. Commander Smith had tried to console her, but nothing would work, not the stupid idea of justice or vengeance or whatever it was the Survey Corps' commander thought he could offer the Reeves family. Edward was dead, after all, and Dan and Jim along with him.

Flegel'd seen  _that_ , too, his father's throat cut, sliced clean open. And he'd heard the gurgling of blood as his dad tried to hold on for just a few moments longer.

Fighting alongside the Survey Corps was a stupid mistake, a horrible, stupid mistake.

Flegel made it halfway down the street before he stumbled behind a crate and stayed there to catch his breath. He was no athlete, not like the military. What made him think that he could outrun them?

 _They aren't looking for me_ , he reminded himself. The Military Police were looking for people from the Survey Corps, people who might know who it was that killed Mr. Edward Reeves and his unarmed associates.

Well, it wasn't the damn Survey Corps—that was something Flegel was sure of. But he was the only one who knew the truth, who might be believed by telling the truth, and if he spoke, the same people who killed his father would come after him.

Sweat dripped down his face and pooled beneath his collar. He tugged at it absently, forcing cool early-autumn air into his lungs.

 _Nobody's looking for me, but that doesn't mean I don't need to get the hell out of here_. In fact, the further away he got, the better. There would be less of a chance of someone seeing his face and recognizing it, that way.

When his breath evened out a little bit, Flegel forced himself back to his feet and ignored the aching in his limbs. Zoë Hange could have escaped with him easily considering she had been wearing three-dimensional maneuvering gear.

Except that he'd argued with her, and the citizens had heard, and someone had seen the woman's gear, and the next thing he'd known, they were being chased by the Military Police. And not the regular MP, either, judging by their tracking skills—not that Flegel himself knew much about tracking or military maneuvers, but the way the crazy Survey Corps woman was sweating and cussing, he knew they both weren't getting out of there—at least not together.

She'd dumped him off after telling him to make his way back to the meeting place, the one where he'd seen that stupid midget captain raise a hand to a girl—the future queen or whatever. He'd be safe there, she'd said in a hurry. Talk to some guy named Moby or something. He'd do his best to help.

And then she'd disappeared again—but she didn't make it very far. There was a ruckus just a couple of streets over, and Flegel, curious to see if they had killed her (and hoping not, because it would be his fault if she had died, he was sure), made his way through the streets he knew like the back of his hand, and watched the Military Police apprehend her.

Nile Dawk was nowhere in sight, and this group—well, they didn't  _look_  like the Military Police. They weren't wearing the ugly jackets with the puke-green unicorn emblazoned on the back, for one thing. But they were dressed like the M.P. otherwise, with gear all over them. Instead of blades, they held guns; the weapons were all trained on the woman, of course, though one man held the barrel of one to the underside of her chin—as if even  _she_  would be stupid enough to try to start something.

Except that she did struggle against them.

Five against one.

She really  _was_  crazy—crazier than he had thought initially. Her speech about fighting even if it meant dying was crazy, but this was stupidity.

They didn't shoot her, though. They didn't do much of anything. One man held her from behind, arm across her chest, and another fumbled around before he slapped his hand over her face. She kept struggling, but there wasn't much she could do, not with guns pointed at her and one person holding her like that. The struggle ended, eventually, when she slumped forward.

Flegel supposed he should have waited around after that, maybe to find out where they were taking her, but he took the opportunity to escape.

It had been an hour since then, and his legs felt like soggy asparagus stalks.

He should have just gone with the crazy Survey Corps woman in the first place. They'd be escaping on horseback by now. But he'd resisted her, and now he was running on foot, trying to remember the route his father had taken to get to the Survey Corps' current hideout. They probably wouldn't stay there forever. He had to find them sooner rather than later.

And that meant that he needed a horse.

He supposed he could steal one from his family, but he couldn't do that to them now, not while they were mourning; besides, the stables were heavily guarded. But the crazy woman, Zoë…

She had to have arrived on horseback.

He doubled back to the Survey Corps headquarters, walking at a normal pace, trying to look inconspicuous. His face wasn't as well-known as his father's, but he couldn't risk lifting his eyes from the road for fear someone would recognize him and say something stupid like, "Isn't that Edward Reeves' son?"

He'd be dead within twenty-four hours if that happened.

Outside the Survey Corps HQ was a lone horse tied to a hitching post. It looked all right—fresh enough. It had to be Zoë's horse; there were no others, and it was too tall to belong to a civilian. A few members of the Survey Corps were still being filed out of the building; they were loaded into carriages that displayed the MP crest, and the drivers took off in a hurry. People had mostly dispersed from the area; the Reeves family was far enough away that Flegel took his chance as soon as the street cleared itself of the M.P. Trying not to sweat too much, he untied the horse from the hitching post, and spoke to it under his breath.

"I know you don't belong to me, but we've got to get out of here."

The creature's ears flicked back and then forward again, and Flegel managed to get himself into the saddle. He was far from an accomplished rider, preferring carriages or even supply wagons over the smell of horse sweat, but he wasn't about to be picky.

Taking a deep breath, he lowered his head and turned the horse toward the nearest side-street; it was surprisingly easy to blend into the masses—easier still to escape the crowded city by taking a few alleyways to avoid the majority of the population.

There were only a few major roads that led out of the city, and he took the one he thought he remembered his father taking. From there it was not so hard to remember the directions that the old man had muttered from the bench of the wagon; they were all landmarks, after all.

 _Turn left a few miles down the road just after you cross the stream_.  _Move through the trees; it looks like a forest but it's only a quarter-mile wide or so._

At the time, he'd been annoyed by the excess noise, but now he was grateful for it. He'd be able to find the Survey Corps hideout and then he could talk to that Moby guy about what had happened. And then—well, things would be okay.

Not everything, of course. It was too late for that. But some things might turn out all right.

* * *

Waking up was harder than it should have been. Her eyes felt sticky, her mouth dry. She half-heartedly reached for her glasses, which usually ended up miraculously on her nightstand before we woke up every morning, but she couldn't move her arms, couldn't roll over—couldn't do anything.

For a single moment, she thought it was a dream—one of the dreams everyone in the Survey Corps experienced now and then, where they were forced to watch someone die—friends, lovers, whole squads, or sometimes the entire Corps.

But there were no titans tearing people apart. She couldn't even see the muddy clay-like soil of her hometown—a less expected dream, but one she had had enough times in the past to excuse its appearance, now.

Hange could only see grey, or maybe it was brown.

She tried to sit up, but could hardly tell what way she was facing and what position she was in. She tried to ask, "What happened?" but all that came out was a low sort of groan.

"Hey Thane," a voice spoke, sounding way too loud and muddled. "She's up."

"Yeah?" Boots against a stone floor, fabric scrunching up. "I got this. Send Josh in. The rest of you pussies can't handle this."

Laughter, and then, "Josh screams when he sees spiders."

"And you scream when you see blood. Will you get Josh already?"

"Yeah, yeah."

The voices cleared, and in the silence before another set of footsteps came into the room, Hange remembered two important things: Erwin and Flegel.

The rest came in a flash as she heard a heavy door close: the kid arguing with her, him agreeing to find their latest hideout, her lifting her arms as several firearms were aimed at her face, and then—the rest wasn't clear.

"Where the hell am I?" was the first thing she managed to say clearly.

"Who wrote 'man' on this report?" The voice was deep—she thought it must belong to the newest arrival. Josh?

"I don't know," Thane said. "Look, she's dressed like a man. It was probably an honest mistake."

A sigh. And then, "Well, a woman makes a lot more sense."

"You know who she is, then?"

"I have a hunch. Why don't you try asking her who she is?"

"All right." Thane pushed at her shoulder. "Your name. Now."

"Tell me where I am, first."

"Cute. But that's not how this works."

Hange had to force herself to keep from swallowing; she wasn't entirely sure what they were planning but none of it would be good, she was sure.

"Why don't you tell me how it works, then?"

"It's quite simple, really." It was Josh this time; she could hear him setting something down, and then she felt hands on the side of her face.

A blindfold, of course.

As soon as it came off, she could see perfectly fine, though her goggles were gone.

The lighting was dim—just a lantern—but she had to blink to adjust to it. She didn't recognize Josh at all; he hadn't been one of the men who apprehended her.

Thane pulled her into something like a sitting position; it was uncomfortable, but at least she wasn't flat on her back anymore. She tried to move her hands, but they were tied behind her, and tied well.

"You've been brought in for, ah, I guess you could say… _questioning_." Josh got back to his feet and crossed his arms over his chest.

"The Survey Corps was given a day to assemble for that," she said, trying to remember what she had overheard of the conversation.

"You ran away from the scene. This is a different kind of questioning."

"With another person," Thane added.

"He was a civilian. Insurance. But he was too heavy, so I let him go." It was a terrible lie and she knew it, but only two people in the world could tell when she was lying, and it wasn't either of these men. Besides, the civilian part was true.

"I wouldn't put it past you Survey Corps scum," Thane muttered. "Now tell us who you are."

"You haven't told me  _where_ I am, yet," she countered, and tried to memorize the faces of the two men in front of her. Josh was bulky and had dark hair, and Thane was of a much slighter build with thinning wheat-colored hair. Thane looked a little more familiar; he was the one who had held the gun under her chin.

"At first we thought you were just a small fry, but you showed a lot of skill with that gear, and you're too old to be a newbie. There aren't many veterans in the Survey Corps, at least not these days. You're a big fish."

"Erwin Smith himself," she said, voice dry.

Josh's voice turned annoyed. "If you want to play cute, you're welcome to it, but we can check you against known facts. The Survey Corps' background check files might be a little…messy, but ours aren't." He bent over a folder he'd dumped onto a chair, and sifted through it before pulling out a few sheets of paper. "Let's see. Veteran women of at least a few years: Nanaba? Deceased. He set the paper down. "Nifa? Apparently alive, whereabouts currently unknown. Lynne? Deceased. Zoë? Also alive, whereabouts currently unknown. A squad leader, too. The only squad leader left alive, it seems."

Hange just stared at him. "And?"

"You're not Nifa; she's short, according to this file. That means that you're Zoë Hange, fourth squad leader."

"You think so?"

"Well, we can check," Thane said, standing up from a crouching position to look over Josh's shoulder. "Zoë has muddy-brown hair." He glanced over at her and then back to the paper, "I guess that counts. And glasses, which we've confirmed. You're about her confirmed height and weight. And—oh." He came back over to her, and crouched again, hands reaching for her face.

To her credit, she didn't flinch, but the movement made her blink.

He grabbed her bangs and yanked her head down toward her chest with one hand before he twisted it away from Josh. Lifting up the hair at the back of her neck, he added, "The best proof: a noticeable scar on the back of her neck."

"Looks like we found fourth squad leader, Zoë Hange, then."

"Let go of me," she hissed, feeling like her neck was about to snap.

"What were you doing in Trost, Squad Leader?" Thane asked.

"None of your goddamned business, that's what."

"There to see Commander Smith, obviously. But why? You must have had a pretty important reason."

Josh had a gun. Thane was unarmed, but he wasn't unskilled—that much was obvious from the way he moved. He either hadn't forgotten his military training, or he'd been using it with some regularity. "You're not the Military Police," she said evenly. "At least, you're not the regular branch. They're complacent and kind of lazy—"

Thane's hand over her mouth stopped her from finishing her sentence; he squeezed her face too hard and tilted it back up so that she was looking at him. "Look, Squad Leader. Maybe in the Survey Corps you got away with doing whatever you wanted whenever you wanted, but fucking Erwin Smith won't get you any favors, here. We're the ones asking the questions."

Josh interrupted him with a cough. "Let's give her time to think about it."

Thane let go of her face. "What?"

"We can wait a little while. Let her read her file a bit. She'll see what we already know she knows—it might change her mind."

It wouldn't, but Hange didn't tell them that. It might be nice to know what they already knew about her, anyway.

"Sure," Thane muttered, getting to his feet. He took the offered file from Josh and dropped it on the floor next to her. "You  _will_  tell us what we want to know; whether or not it's a painless experience, of course, is up to you, Squad Leader."

Both men left after that with a promise to return soon for the file.

She supposed it was a good thing they were giving her some time; it probably meant that they didn't  _want_  to hurt anyone to get answers. Or maybe they just wanted her to believe that. Sannes and Ralph had tortured Nick until Nick had died, after all; the central M.P. were not afraid to kill anyone, even a helpless priest.

The information she had was, perhaps, valuable, but the M.P. weren't getting it. If they wanted the information badly enough, they'd refrain from killing her for a long time. Maybe she could buy enough time for Flegel to find the Survey Corps' latest hideout; Moblit would tell Levi when he came back what had happened, and Levi would try to find her.

At least she wouldn't be another Mike—at least she wouldn't just disappear.  _Someone_  knew what had happened to her, at least.

Hange turned her attention to the slightly crumpled sheet of paper on the stone floor. She struggled a bit to find a comfortable enough position where she could see the small handwriting and not fall over, but she managed to find some kind of balance with her hands tied behind her.

At the top was her name and position in the military. Below that was a list containing her physical appearance, hair and eye color, height and weight, noticeable scars. Even her birthmark was listed.

Then there were details about her job: her squad's names were there along with the research she did on titans. There were even notes about her non-titan-related research, though they didn't seem to know much about it. Her skills were noted, and her weaknesses. Had she been in a better situation, she might have laughed to see her temper mentioned.

The last section of the document was headed by a single word, and it made her stomach lurch uncomfortably:  _family_.

Was that the real purpose of leaving the document with her? So that she could see her parents' names scrawled out, so that she'd know beyond the shadow of a doubt that the Central M.P. knew where to find Greg and Lorrie Hange?

Having gone days without proper sleep, Hange was too tired to think properly. She scooted back until she could lean against the wall, and then she sighed, at a complete loss. She needed some kind of plan, but it was impossible to make one good plan when she had no idea what to plan for.

She supposed that, just like fighting titans on an expedition, she'd just have to make up a plan as she went and hope for the best.


End file.
